


Waxing, Waning

by clusband (orphan_account)



Category: Hiveswap
Genre: Character Study, Gen, ambiguous gender!reader, comfortable platonic physical intimacy, you can read this as flushed or pale or both
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-10-02 09:33:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17261810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/clusband
Summary: With the moons waxing crescent above you and the city waning below, you consider your place on alternia with Mallek and you find yourself home.





	Waxing, Waning

**Author's Note:**

> "Living off borrowed time, the clock ticks faster" - Troll Madvillain

“Wanna get out of here?”

You almost didn’t even notice him, the cheers of trolls and the buzz of the crowd pulling you slightly out of you element. You promised Chixie that you would be here for her debut, but after the events of the past few weeks, you’re realizing that you’re more than just a little socially drained. Mallek has his hand on your shoulder, and you look apologetically toward the stage. You’re sure Chixie will understand. Judging by the looks she’s shooting to a troll closer to the stage, and that troll’s looks back, maybe your abrupt absence will benefit the both of you.

You smile, and start following him out of the front exit, but he pulls you aside and leads you out of a side exit. Man, this troll has the laid-back, cool guy thing down pat. He gives your eyes a minute to adjust to the new lighting, hand steady at the small of your back, then he gestures toward his hoverboard, looking theatrically relaxed, as if to offset the shyness in his voice.

“Anyone ever take you for a ride on one of these? I thought, maybe, you and I could try to ride together. There’s this place I’ve been keeping secret…” he trails off, stuffing his hands in his pockets. In truth, the idea of racing around at high speeds, high up, sends an odd thrill of anxiety and fond feelings through you. Your ribs give a little pang of phantom pain, as if to remind you that they never fully healed, but what the hell. You trust Mallek to know what he’s doing. He quirks an eyebrow at you, then starts up his hoverboard and extends his hand. He pulls you up roughly, his hand startlingly cool in yours. You both veer wildly from side to side as you learn to balance in sync. Once you wrap your arms comfortably around him, you’re off.

He starts slowly at first, learning how you move perhaps, or maybe giving you time to learn the way he moves. Either way, in a few minutes you feel comfortable again, shifting your weight from foot to foot and leaning into turns with him as he picks up speed with a soft whoop of delighted laughter.

You’re laughing, too, exhilarated and excited. Below you, you see the lights of music clubs slicing past you, and you feel the thrum of your rushing blood as he takes a turn tightly and weaves his way through tightly packed buildings. He races on long stretches of empty roads and he tells you to duck with him when you squeeze your way between a bridge and open water. Once you realize that he’s showing off for you, it’s easier to relax. The thought of him trying out all of these stunts and perfecting them for you sends a smile to your face. You want to laugh. You close your eyes and lean your face between his shoulders, breathing in the spicy-salty scent of him and feeling the racing of his heart, trusting him to keep you safe.

When you finally feel yourself slowing to a stop, you expect to see his hivestem. Instead, you’re on the roof of what appears to be an abandoned luxury hotel. Do trolls have hotels? Either way, the effect is not lost on you- above you, both moons are rising, waxing crescent, below you, the subdued hustle and bustle of a busy city starting the day (night?). You hop off the hoverboard, clumsy and shaky with adrenaline, and he joins you shortly, pacing around an empty pool and fiddling with his palmhusk, absentmindedly kicking weeds out of his way.

Abruptly, he shoots you an apologetic look and puts the palmhusk in his hoodie pocket, holding up both hands as if to show you he’s willing to give you his undivided attention. You flush lightly- his gaze is mostly friendly, but intense somehow. Before you can interpret what it means, he turns away from you and walks to the ledge of the building. You feel the familiar swooping feeling of anxiety- there are no guardrails to keep him safe- but he sits down with little fanfare.

He pats the ground beside him and you make a big show about being nervous about the height. He laughs and shows you the balconies not two feet below you, and you laugh with him. It’s nice to unwind together! You sort of half slide and half jump down and grab hold of the fencing, dizzy with the fear of heights. Once the two of you are comfortably situated- you, with your legs crossed and he with his legs through the fence and dangling below, you get a better look at him. He’s smiling softly, his eyes are closed, but he looks vulnerable, sad. It occurs to you how lonely he must be- you wonder how close he can truly get to the trolls who run errands for him.

With a burst of courage, you reach for his hand. He immediately gives you his palm, lacing his fingers with yours and leaning his head on your shoulder. Wow, who knew it was that easy? The two of you sit for some time in comfortable silence together, the cool skin of his forehead comfortable against your neck, the tips of his hair brushing your jaw.

“What is home to you?”

What?

“Like, on the days you just want to go home. What do you think of?”

This question is surprisingly difficult. You realize that you’ve started to think of the dilapidated building that you’re squatting in as ‘home,’ but you know that’s not what he’s asking. Instead, you tell him about your apartment, on earth. About the market down the street that sold these chewy candies that you loved, the restaurants that sold your favorite food, and the time you helped a woman catch all of the flowers from her bouquet on a windy day after watching her drop the whole thing and struggle to pick them all up.

He listens intently, laughing at the appropriate parts. You counter his question- how does he feel about his home, here on Alternia?

He considers this for a while, then he tells you that he doesn’t really know.

“On bad days, I want to burn everything to the ground, start over. Then I start to feel bittersweet about it, remembering all of the fun I had, messing with the system, making friends and causing mischief. But on my good days..." he trails off, considering his phrasing. "...I don’t think about Alternia at all.”

He turns to look at you, gauging your reaction.

“It’s not like it really matters, how I feel about this place. I don’t have much time left here, anyway. I’ll be subjected to my ordeals soon enough, and then I’ll have to find a whole new place to be my home. But how long will that last? A sweep? Three? Most trolls don’t get the luxury of going home.”

You don’t like this path of thinking that he’s going down, his frown solidifying on his face and the tension settling, familiarly, into his jaw and shoulders.

You lay your hand across his back and tell him to simply take you with him when he leaves! He starts to scoff at that but you interrupt him- you tell him you’re just the best at surviving encounters with trolls! You retell your story about how you successfully shoosh-papped an upset assassin, and how you narrowly avoided the wrath and pitch-solicitation of an angry, high-level psionic! You’ve dealt with vengeful legislacerators and murderous clowns and you’ve even convinced a spurned lover to let you go after she abducted you in the caverns. Okay, you might be exaggerating these stories a little (lot) bit, but you’ve got him laughing listening to you retell your almost ridiculous stories, and his laugh infects you too, until you’re both on the ground with your hands on your stomachs and tears on your faces.

You turn to look down at him, propping your head on your hand. He can’t really turn on his side to look at you because of his horns, so he closes his eyes and brings his hand to the back of your head, stroking your hair softly. You blush in embarrassment. This is getting pretty romantic, you think. Well, when in Rome...

You lean down. Whatever force of nature started your burst of courage leaves you half-way through your movement, and you end up kissing him softly and tenderly on his nose. He snorts at that, then he uses the hand on the back of your head to pull you to him again. He kisses you softly and fondly, and you lean into him, breathing him in. When you pull away again, he smiles up at you, eyes closed still, humming contentedly. You desperately wish that you had the solution to his problems. That you could tell him that everything is going to work out and really mean it. But for now, you know that it’s enough to just feel this with him. To make him laugh and to listen to him and to see the sights with him before it’s all over.

“Would you like to get out of here?” you ask him.


End file.
